


There Are No Meet-Cutes In Gotham

by Gone_by_dawn



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Clark Kent, F/M, I literally wrote this at one in the morning, M/M, clark has had enough of this shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-24 10:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14953133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gone_by_dawn/pseuds/Gone_by_dawn
Summary: Clark Kent moved to Gotham in order to take full advantage of the scholarship he was offered. The cost of living there is sinful, especially considering what a dump it is compared to Smallville, but he's hardly one to complain. He gets a part time job at the coffee shop across from his apartment, which just barely pays him enough to justify the people he puts up with on a daily basis. And then he meets Bruce.





	1. Clark Needs Something Stronger Than A Mocha

Clark was an absolute  _idiot_ for taking night classes, and you can quote him on that. When he'd enrolled, he figured it'd give him plenty of time to move into his apartment and get a job during the day, then finish his studies at night. Obviously, nothing went according to plan. What really ending up happening was he slept all day, rushed to make his journalism internship on time, started his homework about an hour or two before he went to class, and then dragged himself into work for his shift. If he was lucky, which he rarely was, the coffee shop would be empty for a couple of hours and Clark could quietly study in the break room. As it were,  _Davey's_ was always packed around midnight, leaving only him and his coworker Lois to fend off the caffeine deprived zombies that waltzed in every night.

"Hey, Rodeo."

A smiling woman in a blue apron made her way towards him, looking as gorgeous as ever. She was way too overdressed to be selling coffee at some run down hole-in-the-wall, but Clark had come to learn that Lois Lane never went anywhere without looking her best, even in Gotham, even at half past twelve.

"Lois, I have a name y'know." he laughed, planting a kiss on her cheek in lieu of an actual greeting.

"Sure you do, Kansas, but theres no fun that. How was school?"

The two talked back an forth for a bit about awful professors and stressful assignments. Lois got stuck working with Jimmy Olsen in one of her classes, which wouldn't be a problem if she didn't have such a massive crush on the guy. She had also received a C on her latest term paper, which had been 'an absolute outrage' and 'unfair grading on what was _clearly_  a B+ report', according to her. He agreed that sucked, but ultimately Clark won all the pity points with the kind of shit week he'd been having. It had started when his boss chewing him out in front of the entire office for being late a second day in a row, followed closely by finding out he's failing some random science class that had been necessary for his scholarship. Of course, all of this was topped off by the bills he had to pay yesterday, leaving him with a whopping $6 in his bank account and the fact that his car had been towed. Maybe the last one was his fault, on account of the fact that he hadn't paid the parking meter, but in his defense the sign that should've reminded him to had been vandalized beyond comprehension.

"Damn, Kent, could you let me win just once? How come you always have to one-up me?" They both laughed for a good couple of minutes.

"I'm sorry, Lois, I've been so inconsiderate. By all means, I hope your car gets towed next."

"Mmm, I should be so lucky."

Clark smiled wryly at her. "This city sure is something else."

"You could say that again."

She then proceeded to dive headfirst into a rant about some snotty woman who had just ordered a coffee more complicated than her trig homework. And then another about the guy who had ordered a cup of coffee, chugged it, couldn't pay, and left. And then _another_ about some 12 year-old who came in and tried to get her number. As much as Clark loved his best friend and her eccentric stories, he was still thankful when the bell chimed, signaling another customer.

"I got this one," he said quickly, tying on his apron as quickly as possible. She rolled her eyes.

"Figures that you would call dibs only the hot guy."

"I didn't-" he stopped, ears burning. To be fair, he hadn't noticed the customer who came in was hot, but there was no denying that he was. Jet black hair, blue eyes, lithe but toned body... the guy could definitely be a successful model. If he wasn't already. Clark forced himself not to stare as he flashed him a smile.

"Hi sir, welcome to Davey's. Can I get a name for your order?"

"Bruce." The man licked his lips before saying more. "Do you-"

"Holy shit, Bruce Wayne?"

Clark threw a sideways glare at his friend. Hadn't he literally just called dibs?

Bruce gave her a strained look, gone so fast he might've thought he imagined it. It was replaced almost instantly by a charming, too-bright grin. "The one and only," he confirmed.

"Lo, you know him?"

Lois and Bruce both turned to stare at him. "You don't?"

"I..." He looked hard at Bruce's face. Had they been introduced before? No. Clark would remember meeting someone so breathtaking. How did Lois know him? Maybe they worked together? Had she ever mentioned Bruce? His mind reeled, trying to place his features. When that didn't work, he tried recalling the name. Bruce Wayne. Wayne... It was vague, but he was sure there was some recognition. "Are... you famous?"

Bruce snorted, and, for one mortifying second, Clark was scared he'd gotten it wrong. But Bruce didn't correct him, only raised his eyebrows to say  _'What do you think?_ _'_

From the corner of his eye he saw Lois facepalm.

"You're embarrassing me, Smallville."

He rolled his eyes. It's not like he could honestly be expected to know _every_ celebrity. She was lucky he even knew the Kardashians. (He didn't actually, but he knew that they were some famous family, for whatever reason. He wasn't sure why, but Lois wasn't either, so he'd called it as a win.)

"Whatever. There's a line," he said pointedly, shoving her a cup. He was about to move over to help the next guest, but Lois shot a look at him, then Bruce, and went to do it herself.

"Next customer over here!"

Clark turned back to face the handsome, apparently well known, man in front of him.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Wayne. What can I do you for"

Bruce raked his eyes up and down Clark suggestively. He berated himself for phrasing it like that. He hadn't intended to imply anything, though he happily would.

"I meant, sir, what can I get for you?"

A sly smile. "I'd like-"

Whatever that sentence might've been, Clark will never know. He got a bit distracted by another patron who had come on, ski mask over their face and gun in the air.

"GET DOWN," he shouted, waving the weapon around wildly. "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND AND HAND OVER YOUR MONEY."

Everyone collectively held their breath. Bruce stiffened, but Clark shook his head at him. He hoped he wouldn't do something stupid and risk pissing off the man. After a few tense seconds, the entire shop lowered themselves onto the ground, hands above their heads.

"Clark," Lois gasped, reaching for him. He could tell from her heart racing in his ears that she was nervous. He stroked the back of her hand, hoping it might calm her, but he figured it would do little good while they were all currently held at gunpoint. 

The assailant took quick steps to get to the register, pushing Bruce out of the way. Clark and Lois were the only two standing, but he nudged her to get down in case the guy tried to pull anything. Clark may be bulletproof, but he was pretty certain that his best friend wasn't, and there was no way he'd see anyone get hurt today.

"What's she doing?" The masked guy demanded. "Get the bitch up! Stay where I can see you!" 

Her hand around his squeezed tightly. He squeezed back, praying she'd take the hint and stay down.

"Hey," he tried. He was doing his best to keep his voice as even as possible. He didn't want to set him off or cause him to lash out. "She's not doing anything, just getting down. There's no need to worry."

The guy shoved his gun directly in Clark's face. He heard Lois cry out from somewhere below him, but kept his eyes trained on the  man behind the firearm. He noticed his hands were shaking, but his finger was anxiously on the trigger and the safety was off, so there was little doubt that he wouldn't shoot. "DON"T FUCK WITH ME. Get the bitch off the goddamn floor and give me the fucking money!"

Fury boiled over in Clark's stomach. On top of all the shit he had to put with, all the crazy things Gotham kept throwing his way, there was no way he was bending over for this guy threatening civilians on his watch. Who had the  _nerve_ to even barge into a store like that? Was he really so desperate that armed assault was his go-to? And, really, he couldn't even fathom how the man had the audacity to to wave around a loaded gun as easily as a flag. So help him Rao, he did not have the patience to deal with this. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Listen-"

"Shut the fuck up and  _give me the fucking money_."

He opened his mouth again, but before he could get a word out, the guy fired a bullet right into his shoulder. Multiple screams of panic rang in his ears, and he couldn't do very much to reassure them. Out of instinct, he reached for his wound, despite the fact that there obviously wasn't one. Pain clouded his vision for a split second, and he blinked it away. Just because the bullet didn't tear flesh didn't mean that it hadn't hurt. His impatience bubbled over dangerously, and he gave the robber his darkest look. He reached out and grabbed the gun, ignoring the additional shots fired into his palm, and laid it flat on the counter, daring him to reach for it.

" _Look_ ," he warned, voice as low as he could manage, despite the urge to scream. "I don't give a damn  _why_ you need the money. You do NOT come into _my_ shop and threaten _my_ customers."

The room froze. Clark could see Bruce, crouched down on the floor, staring at him oddly. They all probably thought he was batshit crazy, but oh well. He barreled on with his lecture.

'Who the fuck robs a coffee shop, anyway? Seriously? What did you think you were going to find, an espresso machine you could sell? I mean, did you even think that through? Even if you had robbed like a Starbucks, there's no way you'd get more than a few hundred. Is a few hundred really worth all this?" He paused to glare at him. "Get the hell out of here." 

The robber gaped at him for a moment, then made a sudden jump for the gun. Clark slammed his hands on the counter to block the movement, but the distraction had been enough to encourage Bruce that he could deal with the criminal himself. Clark wanted to groan out loud. Bruce threw a jab and ducked under one in return before Clark managed to jump the counter and land in-between the two.  The robber threw another punch, but found a few bones shattered after it connected with Clark's jaw. Seeing that he wouldn't win this fight, he turned on his heel and ran for the door. Clark let him go. He was still pissed, but not enough to chase him down.

He immediately reached down to help up Lois. "Are you okay?"

She shakily accepted his hand, one arm wrapped around herself.

"'Course," she mumbled. "Are-shit, Clark-are you?"

He nodded, pulling her in for a reassuring hug. "I'm good," he promised, whispering the words into her hair until she stopped shaking so much. His hands rubbed calming circles into her back. She didnt say anything else, but held him tight for a few moments longer.

Tentatively, the rest of the people got to their feet. The room was in thick silence for a few seconds, no one knowing how to react, but they quickly came to their senses and left in a hurry. Albeit after giving Clark a number of looks from grateful to disgruntled. Most of them looked mildly put off, which about summed up Gotham. A manic thief with a loaded weapon was an inconvenience to them. Bruce himself never said a word, just stood there, calculating.

The shop had pretty much cleared by the time the he and Lois pulled apart, with the exception of Bruce. His blue eyes bore holes through Clark, to the point where he could _feel_  it. He didn't quite know what to say to him, and Bruce wasn't offering any words either, so he settled for picking up a coffee cup and permanent marker.

"So sorry, sir. Would you still like to order?"

The other man didn't react. He stared right at Clark for a second, and then a second longer. Eventually, he cleared his throat.

"No, no. But I suppose I should thank you for..."

Clark tried his best at a smile. It came off a little awkward. "Yeah, well. Um, are you sure I can't get you anything? It's on the house, as an apology for-you know."

Bruce shook his head and hummed. "That's okay." He looked him up and down. "Maybe another time."

He mumbled an 'of course' and turned his attention to cleaning up the shop while Lois called the police. Not that they'd do anything, of course, it was mostly just a courtesy. Bruce had disappeared by the time Clark cleared off the nearest table, putting an end to the whole ordeal.

Both men left Davey's that day a little shaken, but more or less fine. It wasn't the first, or last, bad day they'd have in the city, and honestly, an armed robbery in Gotham was hardly rare. For Clark, the whole fiasco was pretty much just the cherry on top of his already god-awful week. For Bruce, the only really memorable thing had been the insanely hot barista who was brave and quite possibly bulletproof, and, hey, he'd done more for less. If Batman just so happened to catch the robber who shot that hot barista later that night... well it was a small world. So small, in fact, that Bruce decided he might just return to that coffee shop. Maybe even while... it had been Clark, hadn't it? Maybe even while Clark was on shift. What a coincidence that would be.


	2. Despite the Worst Wingmen Imaginable, Bruce Gets a Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m beyond pissed. I’d written the entire chapter, and then accidentally logged out at nothing saved. So yeah, this chapter it a bit rushed bc I was trying to recreate it. Bruce’s POV

Bruce had returned to Davey’s the day after the coffee shop incident. He’d meant to only drop by, order a coffee, maybe flirt with Clark, and then leave an put the entire thing behind him. He’d meant to, but that’s not exactly how it played out. 

The problem came when Bruce returned the next day. And then the day after that, and the day after that. One day had turned into one week, which had turned into two. He’d fallen into a routine: sit through board meetings, pretend to do paperwork for a few hours, then have Alfred pick him up and take him straight to the coffee shop. Sometimes more than once if he stopped by and Clark wasn’t working yet.

Alfred, bless him, said nothing when one trip became two, then three, then seven. But even he had his breaking point.

”Sir, would it not be simpler to ask the man on a date?”

Bruce narrows his eyes at the butler from the backseat.

”I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

They had arrived at Davey’s. Alfred put the car in park, then turned to face Bruce.

”Well if that’s the case, Master Wayne, should I turn the car around? We have more than enough coffee at the manor, if that is truly what you are thirsty for.”

Bruce _almost_ panicked. Almost, because neither Bruce Wayne nor Batman ever panic, though this was close enough to what he imagined it felt like. He knew Clark’s shift ended in five minutes (he’d asked Lois about it the first time he’d come into the shop and didn’t see Clark), and if he didn’t get to him now, he’d miss him. His face heated, whether from embarrassment or irritation was anybody’s guess, though he was careful not to show it either way. He felt like he should scold Alfred for calling him out like that, but the man had put up with too much to be fazed by him anymore. No matter that he was technically his boss.

Rather than react, Bruce threw him a dirty look and stepped out of the car. He resisted the urge to fix his hair or straighten his tie, only because he knew Alfred could still see him through the window and he refused to humor the man. There was nothing worse than a smug butler, save for a smug Alfred.

Bruce easily spotted Clark the second he came through the doors. The man was bent over a table with a dish rag, wiping it down. He allowed himself to stare for just a minute, admiring, before he went up to him.

Clark startled when Bruce placed a finger on his hip. He’d heard the man come in, but apparently hadn’t expected him to be so close. Bruce would have taken a step back our of politeness, but his playboy persona Bruce Wayne would have gotten even closer in Clark’s fluster, so he compromised the two and didn’t move. He did retract his hand from the man’s side though, as much as it had pained him to do so.

”Bruce,” Clark smiled.

Neither one of them were used to this yet, their unlikely friendship. Clark has never really met someone of his status before, so he treated mostly Bruce the same way he treated everyone else. It was equal parts odd and refreshing for the man, who had never gotten along with anyone as easy, in any of his personas. And that was another thing—he didn’t have personas with Clark. He was a flirt, sure, and at times more showy than he really needed to be, but it was a far cry from Bruce Wayne, a man who’d seduce anything that moved and fooled around with anyone that was willing. Each year it got harder to plaster on that image, too-wide smiles and fake interest. He’d only tried it once on Clark, the first time he’d returned, and the man had been able to see right through it in seconds. It should worry him, someone being able to read him so easily when he’d made a living in putting on masks, both figuratively and literally. It should, but it didn’t. Christ, he was so fucked.

”Hey there, Smallivlle.”

”Ugh, not you too. You sound just like Lois.” He moaned dramatically, as if Bruce had betrayed him by this. “And then you wonder why I didn’t want to tell you.”

Bruce smiled at his theatrics.

”You can’t just expect me not to make fun of you when you were actually born on a farm. It’s not my fault your hometown has less people than cows.”

”Say what you will, but I’d take Kansas over Gotham any day. My car never got towed in Kansas.”

”Okay, first: only Gothamites get to hate Gotham. And second, I’m not even entirely convinced you had cars in Smallville. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out everyone rode tractors down the highway.”

Clark laughed, loud and bright and a little sharp, like the joke had caught him by surprise.

”I’m afraid you have a fundemental misunderstanding oh how that works.”

”Big words for a farmer.”

Clark smiled and punched him lightly. Bruce opened his mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by Clark’s friends on the other side of the cafe.

”Clark! If you and your sugar daddy are done, would you mind getting back to work?”

”Yeah, Kent, it’s bad enough you pine all day at the office. You think with two jobs you’d at least be good at one of them!”

Clark and Bruce both turned to face the duo, lounging by the counters as if they hadn’t just shouted abuse at their friend. Standing behind the counter with a shit-eating grin was Lois Lane, in her devious glory. Beside her, sitting in a barstool looking just as mischievous was a man he recognized as James. He was dressed as nicely as Lois always was, though he looked a little ridiculous with an innocent smirk wrapped around the straw of his drink.

”Get off my case, Olsen!”

”Don’t you and Miss Lane have a closet to be fucking in?” Bruce added, relishing in satisfaction when the two went red and James spluttered on his coffee.

Thank god the shop was uncharacteristically empty today.

To his left, Clark snorted. He raised his hand to cover a wide and amused smile, though Bruce couldn’t find justification in trying to hide something so gorgeous. When he caught Bruce looking at him, he simply shook his head and laughed.

”Oh, heavens me,” he chuckled to himself, throwing his rag over his shoulder and walking behind the counter and towards the cash register.  Bruce wasn’t even sure what “heavens me” technically meant, but he liked the way Clark said it. 

It took a full minute for James to recover. When he did, he just stuck a hand out to shake.

”You must be Bruce Wayne. Nice to finally meet you,” he said, politely, as if he hasn’t just been throwing jabs at him and Clark.

”James Olsen, I’ve heard about you from these two. A pleasure.”

He shook his head. “Call me Jimmy. And whatever they said, it’s a lie.”

”They said you’re damn good with a camera.”

”Except that. That’s true”

Bruce offered him a small laugh, not entirely forced. Jimmy smiled pleasantly at back, teeth a flash of white against his dark skin. He hadn’t been lying, Clark and Lois really did mention the man. He was same age as the two, which made him a few years younger than Bruce, not that it mattered. He was a photographer, working at the Daily Planet with Clark, and attending college with Lois.

Clark cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him. He stood behind the counter, leaning forward onto his palms, shoulders tight. Bruce would’ve payed to be standing behind him as he did that, so he could see his back muscles ripple.

”If you two are done catching up now.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. ”Jealous isn’t a good color on you.”

Clark pretended not to hear him.

”I’m sorry Bruce. Did you want a coffee? Or we have pastries and stuff. I kinda forgot to take your order.”

”You are the worst barista ever, hands down.”

The man shrugged. Bruce shed his jacket, wrapping it around the back of the bar chair as he took a seat.

”Actually, I didn’t come here today to order anything.”

Lois poked her head into the conversation, not even attempting to hide the obvious eavesdropping.

”Then why did you come? Besides to make sure that Smallville didn’t earn his paycheck.”

Clark mumbled a few suggestions about where Lois could stick her paycheck, though manners kept him from cursing. His farmboy charm was honestly the cutest thing.

”Well, I came to ask _Clark_ ,” he said the words pointedly at Lois and Jimmy, reminding them that this was a private conversation, “if I might be able to task him out to dinner.”

”Oh.”

”Oh?”

From the corner of his eye, Bruce was sure he saw Jimmy bang his head down on the table. Who said “oh” to being asked on a date?

”Oh, I mean—yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you. I have night classes during the week, does Saturday work?”

Bruce grinned, more sincere than he had in a while. 

“Saturday night, 8 o’clock, at the Three Candlesticks. Here’s my number, see you then.”

He fished in his shirt pocket for a pen, scribbling out his number for Clark. He didn’t wave or say goodbye, just stand up, grab his coat in one had, throw it across his shoulder and walk out.

He was still grinning when he reached the car, even when Alfred look at him knowingly, seeming smug.

”I take it he said yes?”

”Clear my schedule for Saturday night.”

”Yes, Master Bruce.”

he was still grinning.

Later that night, the Gotham Bat dressed in his suit and cowl and began his work of patrolling the streets for crime. His good mood in his personal life did not mean that Batman would show leniency with the criminals he picked up, but maybe he was a little less aggressive than usual. If Alfred noticed, he didn’t say anything. Bless him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls comment!! I wasn’t going to update this so soon but I got some comments on the first chapter and it motivated me so pls tell me what you liked down below


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